


Mornings Alone Are Far Too Bright

by Donvex



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, and julian just cares so much, the apprentice has an oncoming headache
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donvex/pseuds/Donvex
Summary: Early morning sunlight pours through the uncurtained window, dancing across the white sheets and mahogany flooring in golden waves. It usually feels soft, enchanted, as if waking is a stolen moment of utter bliss, outside this realm of responsibilities.This morning, the light burns. There’s a dull throbbing within Donte’s head, mostly to the left, although at times it feels as if it’s everywhere - his head is killing him, and the sheets in the bed next to him are cool.He's alone.





	Mornings Alone Are Far Too Bright

When he wakes up, he wants his first thought to be that the bed beside him is empty. He wants himself to notice immediately that the sheets next to him are cool to the touch, and that he might have been alone for a long while. He wants to smile to himself, wondering where Julian rushed to at the break of dawn, and what kind of trouble he has no doubtedly stumbled into. Well, maybe less of a stumble, more of a “purposefully antagonize.”

But it takes some time for Donte to get there.

Early morning sunlight pours through the uncurtained window, dancing across the white sheets and mahogany flooring in golden waves. It usually feels soft, enchanted, as if waking is a stolen moment of utter bliss, outside this realm of responsibilities.

This morning, the light burns. There’s a dull throbbing within Donte’s head, mostly to the left, although at times it _feels_ as if it’s everywhere. 

Standing is nowhere near as difficult as people make it out to be. It’s turning towards the window that hurts, but he has to know. With shaking fingers, Donte leans himself further onto the sill, looking up at the sky.

The air outside the window definitely feels heavier, damper, but there’s only a handful of clouds in the sky. Certainly no more than there are coins in a forgotten pouch or pocket. 

But the headaches never lie, and a storm must be coming. It’s that moment that Donte realizes that the rest of the house is quiet, and Julian must have been out for some time. The worst of it is knowing he can do nothing but hope the doctor is safely home - or safely holed up somewhere else - before the downpour begins.

There’s no telling how long it will be, though. The headache will be present all day, whether the showers come early morning or late evening. Donte can’t wait around for that. He stretches his arms to the side and raises himself on his toes, and it isn’t the movement that hurts so much as the shaking of his head. He squeezes his eyes shut at the pain, both hands brought to his forehead, before sliding his fingers back into his hair and pressing the thick padding of his palms into his eyes. The darkness is temporary, weak relief, but it’s better than nothing. He rolls his shoulders back, drops his hands, and leaves the bedroom in search of something to eat.

Breakfast, however, doesn’t come easy. Donte can’t bear to eat anything that would require the fire to be made, too much light and too much concentration. It also seems they’re all out of grain, _again_ , and while he is happy that Julian’s appetite has somewhat picked up - as have his sleep schedules become more, well, scheduled - Donte has no idea how the man eats so much and remains so skinny.

Ah, that is, _slender_.

Donte wants to make a mental note to pick up some more, really, he does. Or even just a real note, written down to come across later. But even trying to _acknowledge_ to remember something hurts, and he’s spending an awful lot of time standing at an empty table anyway. He needs to just eat _anything_ , lord help him, and move on with the day.

He can’t go out and pick anything from their garden, though. As worth it as berries or vegetables might seem, the sunlight and the pressure of the storm-bringing air would surely kill him outside. The rest of their cupboards are empty, at least of food. There’s plenty of magical ingredients in there, stuffed into jars and bowls and paper wrappings, but none of them are nutritious by themsleves.

And Donte is _absolutely not_ attempting to brew something in this shape.

Defeated, and with his headache feeling sharper by the moment, Donte returns to bed. There’s work to be done, so much work, but if he can’t even feed himself, he certainly can’t work the shop. Nor can he manage paperwork, or travel out for errands and shopping. He hopes to fall asleep instead, but the headache is so much _worse_ by this point that it seems… unlikely. He rolls away from the sunlight, but lying on his side makes him feel sick. And that’s not much better than squeezing his eyes shut. Worse, actually, if the burning in his throat is anything to go by.

It’s pointless to try and remain on his side, though. He ends up tossing and turning regardless, but no position is better than the other. He’s sweating now, breathing heavily, but the pain won’t subside.

When he knows it’s coming, he’s grateful for the chamber pot. Donte is quick to untangle from the sheets and fall to his knees, sliding the pottery out from under his bed. He empties out the contents of his stomach, but most of it is yellow bile - he hadn’t eaten anything, after all.

He doesn’t notice the sound of the door opening and closing, nor the sound of footsteps behind him. The footfall is casual at first, but the pace picks up when Donte isn’t there to greet them. He’s too distracted, one hand on the ridge of the bowl, the other desperately trying to hold back his own hair. Even when he isn’t throwing up, he’s dry heaving or heavily panting. The physical exertion is excruciating, and the pounding in his head is worsening. The dull, constant ache has turned piercing, and the pain is so severe that Donte doesn’t notice the worried noise come from behind him, either, too caught up with his own suffering.

He does notice, however, when the room goes dark. He looks up at the window, terrified of how long he must have been sitting on the floor for early morning to turn dark so fast, but instead of a night sky he sees Julian’s large jacket held up by some wooden hooks and pins to block out the light. 

Really, why don’t they have curtains yet? They can certainly afford them, they’ve lived here long enough. Almost three moon cycles, now. 

Distracted, Donte almost misses the pot when he feels the need to vomit again. He feels slow in this state, and he hates it. It’s too hard to process anything, and that’s what he does best. What he _can_ process are the fingers gently brushing back the sweat soaked locks of hair that are sticking to his forehead. His lips curl up into a form of disgust when there’s nothing left to throw up, the scowl directed towards the contents of the chamber pot before him and _himself_ , before he turns his head to look behind him. 

His whole body has to come with him, or the turn hurts his head even more, pounding behind his eyes. But it’s worth it, to turn.

Because Julian is home.

 _Julian_.

He’s safe, and he’s home, and he’s here, brushing back Donte’s wild curls. His eyes are full of tender worry, and has he been talking this whole time? He might’ve been, he might not. Donte isn’t sure.

But this is embarrassing now. Looking back down at the clay pot, Donte feels overwhelmed, and when he speaks his voice is barely a whisper.

“Please, go.”

He feels the fingers in his hair still, from what he can only assume is shock.

“I’m too much right now. I’m- glad you’re safe. But I don’t want you to get ill.”

The fingers begin again as Julian’s voice finally picks up. “My dear, you do realize that I am, in fact, a doctor?”

He is. Donte knows this. He does, very well. But everything is hazy right now, confusing, and it hurts. He hates how he is like this, hates when he’s sick, and can’t bear for Julian to witness this side of himself.

So he says just as much.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what, ill? I’ve seen you in worse, mind you. I haven’t forgotten the eel bite that all but began our close relations. Touching, isn’t it? But that’s how patients are meant to be-“

“Weak.”

It’s still quiet, but Donte knows it was heard. The bite, any wounds after that - he could still be strong there. He could fight it. Or at least he could at least think through it. Here, like this, with his own body working against him...

He’s already defeated, and has nothing left to be proud of. Not in this state.

When there’s no immediate response, Donte starts to wonder if he really spoke at all. “I don’t want you to see me when I’m weak, when I can’t think straight.”

“Oh, my love. You aren’t weak.”

Donte wants to disagree, but talking is difficult. When it’s clear he has nothing to say, and is no longer emptying his stomach, Julian wraps his arms around him to help him stand. The warmth is familiar and instantly soothing. He’s laid across the bed again, and for a second, Donte thinks that Julian will lay down with him. When Julian leaves, instead, it takes a second to remember that Donte asked for it. It’s what he wanted.

But then Julian returns, not to long after, with a clean chamber pot that he leaves out, rather than put back under the bed. His gloves are already off, have been since much earlier, but here he takes off his boots as well before laying down besides Donte. He pulls the apprentice close to him, long arms holding him near but not tight.

“I have some things for you. Some medicines. I picked them up this morning, while I went for more grains and oats. You weren’t sleeping well, I could tell something wasn’t going to be right when you woke. I’m only sorry that I didn’t make it back before you got up.”

Donte hums, his face pressed against the fabric that covers Julian’s broad chest. From here, the light doesn’t hit his face, a small mercy. He’ll take anything he can get.

“If I get them now, will you take them? I can make you some soup to go with it. You can’t medicate on an empty stomach, you know.”

Donte doesn’t respond right away, but his fingers curl tighter in Julian’s shirt. The warmth and comfort of a bowl of soup _does_ sound appetizing, but then again, Julian is also warm and comforting.

“If you take it now, I’ll be able to stay with you in bed for the rest of the day. You can remain right here in my arms.”

Julian keeps talking, and it’s soothing. Donte peaks up at him, one eye open, before realizing that the control it takes to open only one eye actually hurts more than using both. He groans in response, but nods, and the glimpse of Julian’s grin when he agrees makes it worth it. His eyes are shut again, but he can hear Julian rise and leave the room. Sleep teases him, but never quite comes, while he waits for the doctor to return. When he does, Donte smiles at him as best as he can, even though it surely looks dopey and tired.

Julian seems to melt at this, anyway.

He helps Donte sip at the soup before drinking a glass of something blue. Donte isn’t sure what the liquid is, but then again, he isn’t at his best - and even if he was, if the ingredients weren’t magical, he likely wouldn’t recognize them. His specialties only go so far, after all.

But he does feel better, with something in his stomach and with whatever it was that Julian created for him. He wants to eat more, but at some point, his limbs feel so heavy and his body so sluggish that he isn’t sure he could even open his mouth were Julian to spoon feed him. It must read on his face, because Julian puts the bowl on a nightstand, next to more of that mysterious blue liquid and a glass filled with water. Then he’s crawling into bed with Donte, long fingers again running through Donte’s hair. It’s endearingly soothing, the first moment all day that Donte has felt some clarity in his head.

He has no idea what time it is, and surely Julian isn’t tired, yet here they are both in bed. Because he’s sick. And because Julian would never leave him alone while in pain.

Donte yawns quietly, face back to being pressed up against Julian’s chest, and Julian must feel the rumble in his skin because he’s laughing, quiet shaking until his own yawn appears.

“Julian?” Donte’s voice is soft, but this time not from an incapacity to speak. The moment is gentle, and he feels safe. There’s no need to hide his vulnerability now.

“Yes?” Julian’s hand runs to the back of Donte’s skull, before sliding down his neck and in between his shoulder blades. The touch is comforting, familiar, as if nothing could be wrong while the two of them embraced each other. And really, it seemed true. Together they had overcome what seemed to be the end of it.

“Thank you for staying with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Julian’s quiet laughter returns, and Donte is feeling well enough to smile back at him, even though his own eyes are closed. He trust that Julian can feel the upturn of his mouth against his skin. “I would do anything for you, you know. Your laughter, your smile - those are the only light I ever need, no matter how dark the nights are.”

“I know. But I also need to ensure that you know I feel the same about you. I treasure you.”

Julian’s voice is soft when he responds, and Donte can imagine the blush that is spreading across his sharp cheeks and up to his ears. “I know. I do, I promise.”

“Good. You can’t get rid of me, Julian. I am yours.”

As the warmth lulls him into comfort and he finally drifts into a healing sleep, Donte hears soft words spoken into his hair, followed by a kiss to his forehead.

“And I am yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just utterly.... adore Julian. Maybe because I'm so much like him. My own apprentice, Donte, can be equally stubborn - so it's best when they agree. But they care for each other So Much, and I am WEAK for a tender Julian scene.
> 
> After Book X, I think we deserve some happiness. Happiness in denial.
> 
> Come see me over at donvex.tumblr.com or montrumian on instagram! Every comment or ask is appreciated. ♥


End file.
